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I
had
lost
all
count
of
the
days
.
So
the
Sabbath
was
the
reason
for
this
strange
decorum
.
My
head
was
swimming
so
wildly
that
I
could
not
frame
a
coherent
answer
.
But
he
recognized
me
,
and
he
saw
that
I
was
ill
.
"
Hae
ye
got
my
specs
?
"
he
asked
.
I
fetched
them
out
of
my
trouser
pocket
and
gave
him
them
.
"
Ye
'll
hae
come
for
your
jaicket
and
westcoat
,
"
he
said
.
"
Come
in-bye
.
Losh
,
man
,
ye
're
terrible
dune
i
'
the
legs
.
Haud
up
till
I
get
ye
to
a
chair
.
"
I
perceived
I
was
in
for
a
bout
of
malaria
.
I
had
a
good
deal
of
fever
in
my
bones
,
and
the
wet
night
had
brought
it
out
,
while
my
shoulder
and
the
effects
of
the
fumes
combined
to
make
me
feel
pretty
bad
.
Before
I
knew
,
Mr
Turnbull
was
helping
me
off
with
my
clothes
,
and
putting
me
to
bed
in
one
of
the
two
cupboards
that
lined
the
kitchen
walls
.
He
was
a
true
friend
in
need
,
that
old
roadman
.
His
wife
was
dead
years
ago
,
and
since
his
daughter
's
marriage
he
lived
alone
.
For
the
better
part
of
ten
days
he
did
all
the
rough
nursing
I
needed
.
I
simply
wanted
to
be
left
in
peace
while
the
fever
took
its
course
,
and
when
my
skin
was
cool
again
I
found
that
the
bout
had
more
or
less
cured
my
shoulder
.
But
it
was
a
baddish
go
,
and
though
I
was
out
of
bed
in
five
days
,
it
took
me
some
time
to
get
my
legs
again
.
He
went
out
each
morning
,
leaving
me
milk
for
the
day
,
and
locking
the
door
behind
him
;
and
came
in
in
the
evening
to
sit
silent
in
the
chimney
corner
.
Not
a
soul
came
near
the
place
.
When
I
was
getting
better
,
he
never
bothered
me
with
a
question
.
Several
times
he
fetched
me
a
two
days
'
old
Scotsman
,
and
I
noticed
that
the
interest
in
the
Portland
Place
murder
seemed
to
have
died
down
.
There
was
no
mention
of
it
,
and
I
could
find
very
little
about
anything
except
a
thing
called
the
General
Assembly
--
some
ecclesiastical
spree
,
I
gathered
.
